


Numb Fingers

by lotustier



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Angst, Chronal Disassociation, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Not Canon Compliant, Past Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotustier/pseuds/lotustier
Summary: *This fic has depictions of self harm and past abuse. I try not to go too into detail, but it is the major factor in this one-shot so please stay safe and proceed with caution!*Dave Strider has been ignoring his friends for weeks, thoughts of the past bombarding his brain and making it hard for him to function. Karkat tries his best to help him out.
Relationships: Dave Strider & Karkat Vantas, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 146





	Numb Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure when this takes place, I just wrote it mainly because I was in a bad place and so I ended up projecting a bit. I apologise if it's too out of character but I tried my best! Stay safe, y'all.

Dave wasn't sure if he was still alive.

He hasn't slept peacefully, or at all really, for the past week. He can't remember the last time he ate, and the only thing he's been somewhat consuming was the bottle of apple juice he had stashed in his fridge. He couldn't feel his fingers or his toes, and he wasn't sure it was from poor blood circulation or something else entirely. He didn't want to think about it. 

In all honesty, he couldn't even recall the last coherent thought he'd had. Actually, scratch that, rewind the track. He could remember that. The problem was that it was the only thing he could remember and therefore the only thought that has been knocking against the walls in his mind for the last several days. Which would be fine if it were something nice, something cool or ironic, maybe. But it wasn't. It wasn't anything close to being 'cool' or 'ironic.' It was fucking with his head, stopping any possibly logical thoughts and warping them before he could act upon them and actually get up. 

He's not sure how long he's been sitting still. Maybe a few minutes? Several hours? A couple of days? He had no idea if time was even a relevant constant anymore and he didn't have the mental capacity to stress about it for too long.

'Hey, Dave, how goes it?'

Ah. The thought was back. Or perhaps it was more of a memory, a line spoken that had wrecked his brain so thoroughly he was convinced that the sentence alone would have killed him when he'd first heard it. It didn't though. He had pushed it to the back of his mind and had promptly, urgently, forgotten about it. That was, up until this past week. He wasn't sure what triggered the memory: a dream he couldn't remember? The sight of one of Bro's old dolls? The jagged white scar across his thigh that served as a stark reminder for what his past had been? 

Whatever had caused it, he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Or maybe everything mattered too much. He thought that could make for some deep and sick lyrics but he wasn't on his game enough to write anything down. 

His thigh burned. A sort of ghosting pain from a scar long since healed. But remembering that scar caused a domino effect, inducing him to remember all the other scars Bro had left him as a permanent parting gift. His arms burned, his ankles felt like they were being seared in a fucking pan ready to serve as some sick freaks midnight snack. 

Fuck, he was out of it. He wasn't sure if he was shaking or if the world had always been so...rocky. He supposed it didn't really matter at this point.

He felt a sudden pinch against his otherwise unfeeling fingers, and his blurry gaze focused on his hand. Oh, he was bleeding. And holding something sharp in his hand. What was that? He didn't remember grabbing it. His eyes shifted and he saw that something had shattered on the ground in front of him. He realized he was on the floor of some room, he tried to register where he was and what he was doing and what fucking time is it, anyway? But he received only blank slates behind his eyelids for answers. 

He squeezed the shard in his hand, watched as the edges scraped feeling back into his finger tips. He wondered if it could do the same to his brain. He wondered when his thoughts had gotten so dark.

"Yo, shit-for-brains! I'm barging in on your fucking shitty 'Strider is So Cool he cant even Talk to his Friends' Parade, hope you don't mind, Asshole! Where the fuck are you anyway? I swear to that stupid ass 'God' you humans worship, if you're in your room making shitty raps again I'm going to-- what the fuck?!"

He didn't register the sound of something hitting the floor across from him, didn't hear the sound of shoes hitting tile reverberating off his ears. He squeezed his fingers against the shard more, encasing it so tightly that his hand once again went numb. Didn't budge when he felt warm hands on his shoulders. 

His vision was practically non-existent at that point, blurry with the strain of subconsciously holding back tears combined with the darkened orange tint of his sunglasses. He wasn't sure why they were on, he didn't wear them when he was alone anymore. Maybe today called for it, though. He found himself wondering yet again what day it was and then immediately losing the will to care.

"-ve! Oi! Strider! What the fuck are you doing, dipshit?!"

Oh, he knew that voice. He willed himself to reply, the need to feign ignorance and pretend that he wasn't completely numb to the world was something he found himself doing subconsciously.

"Hey, Karkat." He vaguely heard someone say. Was that him? "What's up?" That voice couldn't be his, it was cracked and choked and coming from the back of his throat where he'd been holding back the onflow of tears. He never sounded like that, he made sure of the fact. Causing other people to suspect everything wasn't all calm.and collected in his head was not something that Dave liked to do. And yet, it had to be him, he felt the words leave his dry tongue and weave around his cracked lips. 

"Woah, okay, hold the fucking phone." Fingers squeezed against his shoulder blades and he found himself zeroing in on the pressure. "What the fuck is going on, Dave? Why are you on the kitchen floor? Why is there a shattered plate-holy shit you're bleeding!" He felt the pressure leave his shoulders and calloused fingers tugged at his encased hand. His fingers didn't budge around the shard and he stared forward, registering only the bright tiles of the-kitchen? Is that where Karkat said he was?- floor.

"Dave. Open your hand." Karkat's voice suddenly went a shade lower, his questions and usual profanity ceasing for a moment. The sudden difference in speech caused Dave to blink. His vision cleared if only a little bit. "Dave, please." The Troll's fingers stopped digging at his and he simply rested his hand against Dave's own, the touch calm and trusting. "Please." He repeated. "Let go."

He did. It took him a while, probably longer than it should have, but he managed to send signals to his hand and get his fingers to open up. He heard a pained hiss come from in front of him, felt the shard slide out of his sticky palm. He could almost feel the blood from his fingers dripping down his pant leg. 

He heard shuffling, and then the presence before him shifted. He thinks Karkat got up and was getting ready to leave. He wouldn't blame the troll. Dave was a wreck, hard to handle. He wouldn't hold it against Karkat to leave, who would stay? He couldn't even make himself some toast without becoming a fucking disaster. Oh, wait. He had been trying to make himself toast, now he remembered. Not eating for a few days had taken a toll on him and he had finally had enough of the stabbing pain in his gut. The pain was gone at the moment, however. He was focused on whatever shit was going down in his mind.

"Oh my god, Dave. Shut up. I'm not going to just leave you here. And-you haven't eaten in days? What the fuck!" Oh, did he say that out loud? "Yes, idiot." Oh. Maybe he should stop thinking again. "No-what? Just, hold on, stupid. Give me your hand." 

He didn't move, but he felt his hand being tugged at, in the somehow soft yet aggravated way that Karkat did things. Said Troll lightly unfolded his fingers, running something cool along them. He could feel that, he realized. The cool nipped at the newly formed wounds and they stinged but he could feel his hands and toes again. That had to count for something. 

He found himself hyperfocusing on Karkat's movements. On the way the Troll's finger tips grazed his palms, holding his shaking hand steady-- Ah, so he had been shaking. He focused on the way Karkat dragged what he now assumed to be a wash rag against the inside of his hand, felt the way his shoulder shifted as he moved Dave's hand slightly. He listened to Karkat's breathing, a bit ragged and a bit fast, but moving at a constant pace that he found comforting. He blinked a few times, vision finally clearing enough to the point that he could finally make out Karkat's silhouette. He focused on the curves of his horns, the swoosh-ey bits of his hair. He was beginning to make out details. He could see the distinctions between hair and skin, the brows creased in concentration and worry, the eyes downcast and focused on Dave's hand.

He breathed. In and out, slowly. Like his therapist would tell him to. He did this several times before he felt like he could really focus again. This time, he flinched when the rag ran across his fingers. Karkat's gaze flickered up to his, a frown evident on his lips, deeper than usual. Dave stared back for a moment, unsure of the facial expression he was making, if any at all, before glancing down at his hand. He winced again as he looked at the damage he'd inflicted on his blacked out state.

"Karkat-" he croaked, hating himself for the sob that threatened to spill at the end of his name. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, lowering his voice to mask the tremors. He repeated the words over and over again until Karkat stopped cleaning his hands and took Dave's face in his own instead. He felt the troll rest his forehead against his.

"Dave. Do yourself a favor and shut up for once." He snapped, but there was no real mirth behind it, just something that felt like a mixture of relief and concern. "Just...breathe with me, okay? Breathe. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Dave had a number of reasons to argue with that statement. He began rambling them off, feeling Karkat's grip on his cheeks strengthen in a way that was meant to be grounding. He told him about the time he accidentally broke one of Rose's crystal balls, talked about a time he'd hurt John, his best friend's, feelings and then didn't apologize for it until a week later. He told Karkat about how he couldn't save everyone even though he had supposedly mastered time and should at least be able to do that by now. At this point, Karkat's hands had moved from his cheeks to his arms, running his fingers up and down, up and down. Dave tried to focus on his shirt crinkling underneath the movements. 

"And and, Bro-" he choked. He hadn't told anyone about this. Not even John or Rose or Jade- hell, especially not them. They'd never cease to worry and he just didn't think he was strong enough to take that. "He, he-" his hands clenched in his lap, his eyes twitching from the pain that shot up the fingers in his right hand. Karkat leaned back now, away from his forehead but with his hands still against his arms. His gaze was taught, Dave didn't meet his eyes. 

"I just...he asked me how I was."

"...what?" Karkat's voice was barely above a whisper, but Dave knew he was confused. 

"He used to...beat me up? Attack me? 'Prepare me for life's harder struggles?' If that's what you can call it," Dave scoffed. "It got...bad sometimes. Real bad. Like, fucking off the rails, thought-I-was-gonna-bleed-to-death kinda bad. Shit was crazy. Hell, he was crazy. Fucking insane bastard-" he bit his tongue to keep from rambling. "A-anyway. I just. I don't know. I could have done something. Protected myself, maybe? Not have been such a fucking loser. I could have not been the kid who let his older brother shit on him all the time like a fucking dweeb." Oh shit, there he goes. He brought his clenched fists up to his face, scrubbing unnecessarily hard at his under eyes. "And one night, it was like, way fucking worst than the rest. I think he knew it'd be his last chance to really fuck me up. It'd be his last hurrah to fucking stab his younger brother in the thigh, tell me how I'll never amount to anything without him and then just-" 

'Hey, Dave. How goes it?' 

He wanted to scream, to yell, to punch something as hard as he'd wanted to punch Bro the minute those words had left his mouth. But he didn't. He sat completely still. He wasn't sure he could move if he tried. He realized that he was rambling, and acknowledged that Karkat probably didn't want to know any of this stupid, self-pity shit. But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. He couldn't find his cool and in that moment, he didn't care. Karkat was someone he now considered a close friend...or maybe something more? He wasn't entirely sure what they were, but he wasn't about to focus on that right now.

Karkat's hands were on his back now, and then he was somewhere else, a different room. Darker lighting, a cushioned seat- the living room, he realized. Karkat had moved them to the couch. Dave would have to give himself a firm punch in the gut later for letting Karkat see him like this, for letting the troll baby him like he was a fucking kid again. But that could wait.

"He watched me basically bleed out all over the roof. Watched me fucking cry and ask for help which of course just made the fucker laugh. He watched me pass out from blood loss and then when I came to, he had wrapped a bandage around my thigh so tight I had lost fucking circulation in the whole damn thing and then just...said 'Hey. How goes it?'"

"...why are you sorry about all of that?" Karkat's voice sounded a bit strained- or maybe that was just Dave's hyperfocusing mind speaking. He felt a hand curl into his sleeve. 

Dave felt himself shrug sluggishly. He glanced away from Karkat and to a stain on the wall just above the television stand instead. "I don't know. It's stupid. I guess I can't help but blame myself, you know? If only I had been a little stronger, if only I hadn't let Bro push me around so much...well, I could have gotten out of my childhood with a lot less scars, that's for sure." He chuckled blandly, and Karkat's grip tightened further.

"You were a child, Dave. I may not know all about how human adolescence is meant to be, but I'm fairly certain that all of what happened to you isn't how it's meant to go down."

"Yeah." Dave grimaced. "You could say that."

Karkat nodded. "It's not your fault." His hands found Dave's, he squeezed the left hand, the one he hadn't marred with a shard of a broken plate. Dave opened his mouth, ready to retaliate, but Karkat had other plans.

"No. Absolutely-fucking-not, shit for brains. You are not about to keep telling me that it was your doing. This 'Bro' guy doesn't sound like he was much of a Bro at all, and he doesn't fucking deserve your fucking tears. Do you hear me, Strider?" Dave blinked at the sternness in the troll's voice. "If anyone should feel like a flaming piece of ass, it should be that hairball."

Karkat took a deep breath, as if the next thing he was about to say pained him deeply. "I can't believe I'm about to fucking say this, but you're worth so much more than this shit. You may be a stupid, foaming at the mouth, lazy ass human, but you're much stronger than than fucker 'Bro' ever was." Dave wasn't sure how that last sentence fit together. Him? Stronger than Bro? His entire childhood was a testament to that. He decided not to bring that up though, Karkat was being incredibly calm and comforting with him right now and that was more of a shock to Dave than anything. 

Sure, he knew Karkat wasn't all the Big Bad, 'Arg I'm so scary, fear me you little fucking shit faces!!' troll that he made out to be. Still, it was rare that anyone was on the receiving end of Karkat's gentleness.

Dave huffed out a breath, a smile tugging at his lips. "Wow. Who knew you could be so calm?"

"I'm the most angry I've ever been in my entire life right now, Dave."

Dave blinked at that, looking for the lie in Karkat's eyes- to which he found none. He whistled. "Damn, alright. And you're even calling me 'Dave!' On a first name basis, are we now, babe?" 

Karkat scowled, removing his hands from Dave's to sit back and cross his arms. "I've called you 'Dave' before, dumbass. But clearly you're alright now that you're acting all stupid again." The troll huffed. "Guess I can leave now, I'll just go and tell the others that you were just being a little bitch, as per usual." He moved to get up, but Dave quickly grabbed his arm.

When Karkat didn't resist, he pulled him back down, wrapping his arms around him. Karkat stiffened for a moment before relaxing into his grip, moving to coil his own arms around Dave's back.he hummed softly into the blonde's neck. 

"Thank you. Sorry for freaking out on you." Dave whispered softly. 

"... you're welcome, dumbass. Now, get some fucking food before I shove my sock down your throat."

Dave chuckled, releasing Karkat and getting up with a wink. "Kinky."

"I will literally tear you apart limb by limb and feed you to the souls of the dead."

"Harsh."


End file.
